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Ep 6 Part 1 with soundtrack
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Ep 6 Part 1 with soundtrack
Listen to A NEW ME A NEW CHAPTER Part 1 Final with Soundtrack by Amber Scales Hernandez MP3 song. A NEW ME A NEW CHAPTER Part 1 Final with Soundtrack song from Amber Scales Hernandez is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 48:05. This high-quality MP3 track has 1102.913 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 27 May 2024. Stream and download A NEW ME A NEW CHAPTER Part 1 Final with Soundtrack by Amber Scales Hernandez for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
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Amber Scales Hernandez shares her struggles with mental illnesses, addictions, and suicidal thoughts. She discusses her journey to find balance and accept the good and bad in life. She acknowledges that her content may not be suitable for those under 18 and provides a warning about discussing a drug overdose and suicidal thoughts. Amber emphasizes the importance of self-love and how it has transformed her life. She reflects on a moment where she felt hope for the first time in a long time and realized that she was okay in her own skin. This podcast marks a new chapter in her life as she faces her fears and insecurities. Welcome back to my new pod, Unlock Your Infinite Power and Reclaim Control of Your Life. My name is Amber Scales Hernandez, and I am here to share my struggles with mental illnesses, suicidal thoughts and attempts, addictions, fears, and how I am overcoming them all. My search for the light in the very, very dark tunnels I found myself in has led me here today. This podcast is about my journey and drive to achieve balance somewhere in between insanity and reality, and learning to accept the good, the bad, while striving to grow in the beautiful. If you are a returning beautiful soul, welcome back and thank you for choosing you today. If you are new, I welcome you into the family, beautiful soul. You are all meant to be here. Thank you for sharing your journey with me. Disclaimer and warning, this content may not be suitable for those under 18. Please do not continue if any of the subjects mentioned will trigger you in any way. I have an additional disclaimer and warning for today's episode. I will be going into some detail about a drug overdose I was saved from while homeless and talking about suicidal thoughts and feelings. I believe these are important experiences to share. What better way for our soul to see how far we can rise and what good can come from it? So, I have been guided to share where I have been and who I have been. Much of this has never been expressed to another human being until now. I expect to be judged for this. I accept it. My love goes out to you too. This message is for any human out there who has yet to remember their infinite power to change whatever you desire and reach for in your life. I am proof. All that being said, I promise to do my very best to deliver my message clearly today. All I ask for is your understanding for the times I do not succeed in that. Thank you. I love you. Well, it is New Year's Eve, the final hours of 2023. Man, so many things have happened in this last year. It's all inspired the name of today's episode, A New Me, A New Chapter, or maybe a whole new book. I often forget how far I have come and how much my life has changed in such a short time because daily life distracts me from the big picture of the last six years. When I zoom out from the daily, take a moment to breathe, and really look at myself, I am indeed brand new in so many ways. Like I've shared before, stopping and celebrating myself is essential to my well-being, but it is not something that's become a new normal for me yet. It's something that the divine force usually puts in front of me via people, places, and experiences. I have asked that force to make things very obvious and clear for me, so my mind does not automatically discount something I am meant to see, hear, and feel. This request has been honored countless times, and this New Year's was no exception. This podcast is a new chapter in my life, maybe even a new book. I am facing so many fears and insecurities being this vulnerable. Even just sharing these episodes with my family and friends has made me feel uneasy, anxious even. I really expect the feedback to be awful every single time I send something to someone. I prepare myself for them to tell me to move on, and I suck at this. That I am not made for this type of thing, or that my voice is annoying, my story's stupid, the things I think and have done, sickening and gross. All that mess of self-judgment, the doubt in myself, the worry I'm wasting my time and yours, and have no place trying to help anyone, are all very real. In the past, I would not have even been capable of taking in the positive feedback my family and friends have blessed me with. Actually, I would not have even shared this shit in the first place. I think that's why I talk about the positive feedback. It is not because I want to boast. The opposite is very true. I am still shocked, still embarrassed at the positive reactions, the kindness and encouragement. It reminds me of the truth with a capital T. I am good enough. My story is not unique, but that does not mean it is not important. Because mental illness is so common now, that means it can help others going through similar feelings and experiences. The feedback inspires me when I remember these beautiful people in my life have no reason to lie to me. They are all divine reminders that I am on the path I am meant to travel. Finally, my mountain of life is growing as I grow with it. Through self-help, research, and practice, I have become aware of my thoughts and have taught myself how to reframe, reprogram, or replace most of the thoughts I used to think. This was a many years process and originated from the simple desire to feel better. Because I was tired of feeling like shit. That desire and the intention to do something about it led me to try new things, listen to new people, and also finally listen to some of those who had been and were closest to me. I became willing to try anything different that might help. I was desperate and knew I could no longer live the way I had been existing and surviving. I just read a quote on YouTube, posted by Metaverse Music, which I will have to check out. On 1-11-of-2024, I love my numbers, they quoted Najwa Zabian's book, Welcome Home, A Guide to Building a Home for Your Soul. Quote, self-love is loving yourself exactly as you love the person you love the most. End quote. Self-love is loving yourself exactly as you love the person you love the most. I used to read stuff like this and quickly move on. When I heard people say in Narcotics Anonymous or the self-help books I read that we cannot love others until we love ourselves, I rolled my eyes. I was absolutely not capable of loving myself, but I could definitely love others. I convinced myself before I understood it that it was absolutely possible. I did it all the time, and I hated myself. They were wrong. What I did not understand, because I did not know how to let love in or tap into the love inside, was the love that can overflow from within is unlike any love out there. Real love gives without needing repayment. It touches places inside people maybe even they cannot reach. It ignites light and fire within our souls by simply being in its presence. This unconditional love that originates from an internal love does not fear. It does not worry it is being taken advantage of. It has zero anxiety for what that love will look like later. And it never worries the love will leave, because it has nowhere to go, because it always lives within. We've only to look for it, to experience it. I remember when I was first learning how not to hate myself, I didn't get where I am overnight. It certainly took some time and started off very slow. Literally, at first, I'd only experienced it in tiny spurts. Not feeling awful about myself was weird. Different. Very different. I guess I can't even say I liked myself at this time. This was maybe a few years ago. I blame my ADHD that my sense of time is not the best. I'd already started smoking again after my two-year break. I had an unlit cigarette in my mouth, lighter and phone in hand, and went out front to smoke. It was mid-afternoon, a few clouds in the sky, but sunny for the most part. I sat on the stepstool I had outside for this purpose. One of our patio chairs was broken and the other was on our back patio where I was trying to learn to meditate, but it was mostly so I could go and smoke out there. I didn't want to spend money on new chairs just to smoke in. I mean, I had cigarettes to buy, after all. I'm about halfway through my cigarette, messing around on my phone. I see a text from my friend asking how I'm doing. Usually, this means she's bored and wants to hang out. But for some reason, as I reply, it dawns on me that I have nothing to bitch about. I think a little harder. But the truth is, I got some stuff done around the house, without a hitch or making a huge mess. Dinner is planned, and I am outside, enjoying really beautiful weather and enjoying my little five-minute break. All was well. Whoa. I put my phone on my lap, the text and my cigarette forgotten. I look up at the beautiful blue sky. I close my eyes a moment and take in a breath of fresh air. Wow. I smile. Like, really smile. Teeth and all. Maybe it's myself? Or life? Or the universe? My thoughts begin in my head again. How long have I felt like this? I realize it's been hours where life was good? Or at least not bad. My mind was not racing. I had not fucked anything up, forgotten anything, lost anything, or been upset. Or even numb. For hours. In a row. Nothing was bad. Like, nothing. At this point, it was pretty impressive I could not find something negative. That was all I saw and experienced for a very long time. Something inside me expanded slightly. I had no idea what it was. But looking back now, I can tell you. It was one of those first present moments where I was coming alive again. It was the first tiny bit of hope I was not just given, but actually allowed myself to receive. And, shit. I could not even tell you how long it had been since I felt hope like this. Not just hope I can make my partner happy. Or make my family's life better. Or be a mom like I should. Not just hope I got a job, a car, and had a place to live. I'd done all that before. Several times. And screwed it all up. This was deeper than that. I felt okay in my own skin. Inside. Outside. All was well. Actually, I let myself see in that moment all is well. And no one could take it away. No one except me. It was just the delicious taste of freedom I needed to keep going. To see the little changes, however inconsistent, that I had been attempting were actually making a difference. And, it was not even a full-on bite of freedom. It was like when I was young and it would rain. Not downpour, but just rain a little. I loved the water, so I'd always go out in it, tip my head back, and just let the drops drizzle on my tongue for a moment. Then I'd be off playing, my hair getting wet, hoping it would downpour. This freedom felt exactly like that. I wanted more. To be aware. To know. I had not freaked out. Had something bad happen? Felt hurt or overwhelmed for a couple hours? Was powerful. I remember it like it was yesterday. I would not go so far to say I was happy for that time. But the relief that I did not feel like shit was enough. More than enough. It was pure magic. I wasn't living in the pain of the past. I wasn't worried about the hell that would probably happen at my hands in the future. I wasn't quite living in the present. But just to realize things were not bad. I was not bad. For hours in a row. Was fucking mind-blowing. Maybe life did not have to suck all the time. Maybe. The more aware I became, the more thoughts I caught, I did not want to think anymore. And the more tools I learned by reading and listening to others who had overcome adversity, the better I got at all of it. I just had to find what worked for me, usually by trying it out and deciding to keep it or let it go and not give up and be willing to get it wrong. Months after this moment, I started to become aware of many more little chunks of time where life did not suck inside me and outside of me. They were not daily. Sometimes they were not even weekly. But when they happened and I was present enough to recognize them, which I learned to do thanks to two daily alarms to check my thoughts, feelings, five senses, and surroundings, it motivated me to keep working on myself. After giving up on a suggested practice that made me feel better, it would inspire me to try again to make one of them a habit. Most things. Actually, I believe every single thing I tried took many, many, many tries before they stuck. I would start and stop pretty much anything new. I still do this, but there's a lot less time in between my tries than there was in the beginning. Listening and reading inspirational material took effort. Choosing music that did not put me in a bad mood was a choice. Meditation was a big one. I started and gave up on that one countless times. Who knew how many types of meditated practices there were? Then I finally ran into the fact that meditating did not mean I had to silence my thoughts, which I found was fucking impossible, and sit still, which was also not working out, and close my eyes, the only one I could manage. There is actually not a right way to meditate. It is simply being present, however that looks for me. Thank God. This fact ended up being what helped me actually learn it, and my mind, heart, body, and soul are beyond grateful. Walking was another one that took months to just do it once per week. I'm actually back to working on that one again. My practice fell by the wayside off and on over the last year and became non-existent during the holidays. I know I love how I feel when I exercise and I sleep much better, but actually starting and doing it is still a struggle so far. I know I'll get better and more consistent with it if I keep trying. The more I heal, the more I see and recognize what works and what does not. Walking, or moving my ass, absolutely works. I'll get there. Talking to myself nicely took years of practice. I'd love to tell you there was one specific thing that helped me, but there were many things. Many, many things. Acceptance and forgiveness were huge ones. I believe that one is personal, and learning how to do it was something I had to be guided to. I allowed the teachings of Christ to guide me on this one. I no longer practice religion, but it did teach me a lot in a few ways. The energy I believe Christ represents really helped steer me to do the things I needed to do and see the things I needed to see and hear the things I needed to hear. I am not only accepted by the divine for everything I am, but there is also nothing I have done that cannot be forgiven. I was reminded that the one who created me does not make mistakes. It forgives everything, because I read there's nothing to forgive. Life happens. It does not have to be labeled as good or bad, moral or evil. Those are labels humans created. All things, all people, places and experiences have purpose when we use them as such and therefore are not bad or good, but simply need our acceptance, not judgment. From that perspective, I was able to slowly begin to set things down that I had held onto in others and definitely within myself. Another huge tool I learned was taking painful things in my life, looking at them, feeling them, and then finding what I gained or learned from them. This was tough. Some instances took multiple looks into them for me to really see them for what they were and not just how they hurt me, like being cheated on. I found back then I did not trust myself, I did not love or respect myself, and I certainly did not believe I could live without the person who cheated. The truth is, I was codependent. I was an angry, depressed, and raging alcoholic at the time. I'd pulled away in the relationship long before she did because I resented her for the choices I had made previously. I blamed her for my misery, and I lashed out in disgusting ways. Does this mean I deserved it? Did she have the right to take her love elsewhere and lie to me about it? It took me a minute to get to this reality, but no, I did not deserve what she did, and she did not deserve what I did. But they were lessons in time while we were young and inexperienced and very desperate for love. I gained awareness that I will trust my intuition next time. I will confront the issue head-on and act accordingly, and if I don't think the relationship can be saved, I will walk. I can live without anyone, and being hurt and unhappy is no way to live on her side or mine. Those are very great lessons and gives value to something extremely painful that I held onto and let guide my life in awful directions for over 15 years. Reframing my thoughts and repeating them in my head was another big lesson in learning how to see myself in a better light. When I noticed our young son being so hard on himself, it led me to see how I bashed myself in front of him. I had to stop myself from what I was saying. I asked for help in this. It was suggested in a book to reframe my thoughts actively and practice them in the moment. When I dropped something, I'd tell myself, Dumbass. After asking my family to point it out to me when I said it out loud, I would stop what I was doing and focus on telling myself, You are not a dumbass. You just dropped your keys. Then I'd repeat, I am not a dumbass. I just dropped my keys. After many more times dropping them, it would register, and the reframed thought stuck. This is a simple example and an actual experience I went through, but it can be used for anything. I worked through my beliefs about myself with a psychologist almost 10 years ago. After over a year of weekly sessions, we figured out my core belief about myself is that I will always be a fuck-up and will never succeed at anything. I actually did not remember ever thinking that consciously, but I noticed pretty quickly my thoughts and actions very much portrayed it in my life. I stopped trying new things long ago. I stopped doing things that gave me joy. Actually, when one of the books said I needed to do things that made me happy, have hobbies I enjoy, or do things that bring me peace regularly, I was stuck stupid. Hmm. Well, I liked when my partner was happy with me, paid attention to me. I liked when I did a good job at work. I like when my son is happy and we are not fighting. None of these things were happening at the time, but those were the memories I had that made me feel joy and peace. I could not even remember things that brought me joy. It took me weeks of thinking about it off and on to recall things. The book suggested thinking about things I did in childhood. I quickly brushed over that because I could not remember anything good from when I was a child. Nothing. It was blacked out other than a few very traumatic events. I let this simmer in my mind a while. The fact was I had been living in survival mode for so long, I did not have the ability to think about joyful, peaceful things. Eventually, I remembered I used to love to read all sorts of books. It would take me away out of my life and into my vivid imagination. I loved that. A healthy escape. I loved the beach, the waves, the water, swimming, coloring my hair, making jewelry, writing. So, I started doing some of these things, occasionally. It was called self-care, I was learning. Some worked out better than others. Some I shook up regularly, like reading things other than self-help. I went out to the beach to listen to the waves. I started dying my hair fun, crazy colors. Others I didn't have time or money for, yet. Still others I learned to make time for, like writing, when the mood hit. When I figured out meditating was just taking time for myself to be present, I was doing it often. I wasn't able to stay awake all the time, but the peace it gave me and my tired mind was becoming priceless. It was creating a lot of change in my life and my family's lives. Eventually, I even stopped feeling guilty for doing all this. Doing things for myself, without guilt, took a very long time. Actually, it took seeing how much taking time for myself affected those around me in a positive manner before I stopped feeling guilty altogether. It was an adjustment for me to take time away from my family to do things for me. But they adjusted faster than I expected, actually. Because they saw how much more loving, efficient, productive, and not miserable I ended up being some days. I slowly became less sad, and that made everyone's lives better. Hours turned into days, and those days evolved into more days. Then, almost half my days, until finally, I can say most days, I am not only not miserable, I am actually happy. And even that is still rising. Today, all of these tools have led me to a place where I rarely talk down to myself. I am actually one of my own biggest cheerleaders now. I have to be responsible for my own happiness, because I'm the only one responsible for my misery. The days I am not able to encourage myself, I let my wife, my friends, the radio, or a podcast take the reins. When my wife says she's proud of me, I say thank you with all my heart. I smile. Instead of replying with my failures, or what I fucked up that day, I might even share something I accomplished. I agree with her. I take in her encouragement. When I stop doing something I know would make me feel better, such as exercising, I just make the intention to start working out again. I don't beat myself up. I no longer tell myself I'm a lazy, worthless bitch like I used to. I remind myself of what I've been doing, what I've been feeling, and give myself grace to let it be. Let life be. I can let it all be okay today. But don't get me wrong, I still get down on myself. My confidence is growing, but my self-esteem was non-existent for decades. So I cannot expect to feel courageous and brave and self-assured about everything all the time. Yet. Especially when starting something new. Unless, of course, I want to go back to pretending, which I am not willing to do today. I have to be real. And sometimes my fears, thoughts, and feelings get the better of me. Kind of like with this podcast. Thinking of the unknown number of human beings who might hear the inner workings of my broken, crazy, and beautifully unique mind is daunting. Facing the shame of the things I have thought, felt, and done is not as easy for me as it might sound. For as much as I talk, I have spent my whole life attempting to share the bare minimum for whatever mask I had on that day. It started off intentional in my teens, but then became automatic. I would give enough information, lots of words, and very few deeper feelings to make people think I was open, but not really saying anything of much value at the same time. Then, I could not even relate or feel my own feelings, so it became even easier to keep them to myself. I didn't even know what they were, so I certainly could not explain them to others. I ended up numb. My emotions vault had everything locked up tight. Now that the masks are gone, and the vault is open most days, and all that's left is just me, the fear of rejection, of failing, of not being able to help myself and others how I desperately hope to, is a lot. Even the fear of succeeding scares the shit out of me because I still worry if I will be able to keep all this up long term. My past cycles of rising in life and falling flat on my ass usually ended with me chasing or succeeding in near death, and were about every seven years or so. I even have a tattoo on my back of fallen stars every seven years for two of the cycles. I really did not believe I'd let myself fall again after that one. I had a child after that, but I learned quickly a child would not cure me of my mental illnesses, emotional instability, or lack of coping mechanisms as I imagined being a mom would. Being a mother is a superpower, but it cannot fix a broken heart and mind, at least not in my experience. These cycles represent the majority of my adolescent and adult life. Even though I know in my heart those cycles are over, the fear of the past repeating itself again still surfaces occasionally, especially when I'm faced with the unknown, like this project. In the past, I did not deal with anything inside of me. I did not heal. I did not want to even look at myself. I was too scared to go to therapy because I did not feel I could handle facing my life or myself. All of that was the reason I went online to look into self-help. I was not willing to share everything I had done with anyone. I was too ashamed. Fortunately for me and you, there is information out there. And once we're willing to feel better and take action, we can find it. I know in my heart I am rising now. I know without a doubt I am on the path to fulfilling my purpose. And I even know I can handle and cope with things better than I ever have in my life. And those truths empower me. They really do. But my past is not that far behind me. Even sharing a lot of what I'm sharing on this podcast feels very fresh. Not just the experiences that happened in recent years, but also anything I talk about that happened decades ago, because the awareness and setting those events down has all just happened recently. I held on to those experiences like the cheating, feeling like they happened last week. Thank God the realization that it happened over a decade ago finally lit a fire in me to pull it up and take the power out of it, which then took the pain out of it and allowed me to accept it and finally become free of it. This year, 2024, marks six years since the end of my last rise and fall cycle. And I will be honest, I barely made it out of that cycle alive. It was the worst of all the cycles by leaps and bounds. As a matter of fact, I actually did die. I overdosed. Someone in the group with me happened to have the life-saving drug Narcan on them, or I would not be here. It typically takes one dose to revive someone who is OD'd, but that was not the case for me. This story is a big reason why I fear these cycles so much. They have all included or ended with me chasing death or attempting to take my own life. This last time, I'd been living on the streets for several months, maybe a year, going nowhere fast, and had pretty much given up on ever getting home to my family. The drugs I was doing were simply not cutting it. Being numb is a full-time job and got harder every single day. I had to wake up and face my pathetic excuse for a life once again. One of my new friends can get heroin. I think it's time to step it up a notch, or step it down, really. I had not touched the stuff since I was a teenager. I had just started to dabble in it when my mom had me arrested for grand theft for stealing money from her, for drugs, and a deeper anger I felt towards her for reasons unknown to me at the time. She does not know it, but her decision to lock me up saved my life back then, because what happened this night, some 20 years later, is likely what would have happened then. To be in a place where someone is willing to do heroin for whatever reason is one of the worst places to be in the life of addiction, at least in my opinion. I think most people can agree it is the lowest of the lows, where broken people go when they have not only given up, but decide to crawl in a dark, dank, and deep hole to slowly die. The only hope left is that the next time we take the drug, it might be the end of our miserable existence. If not, the least that will happen is we will be numb to our feelings until we are not again. These may not have been my conscious thoughts at this particular time in my homeless experience, but they were not that far down either. Any time my feelings surfaced, a picture or mention of anyone's family, or my son came up to haunt me of our lives, I had fucked up so badly. I wanted to die so bad. So fucking bad. But the fear I would screw dying up again kept me from trying. There is no worse feeling for someone who does not want to be here to finally get the courage, the plan right, and finally take action to end it all. Only to wake up with everyone now knowing of said plan. The failure, the unfairness, and pain ends up being all the more intense knowing I am trapped here, still fucking alive. At this point in my life, I did not care what happened to me. I just wanted to be numb, get through the next day, or die. It really did not matter. My life was worthless, meaningless, hopeless. I'd fucked everything up beyond repair. I met three people, one woman this night and two men the few days prior. It was evening and there was a chill in the California coastal air. Thanks to someone, we had some cash and could swing a Motel 6 room for a couple nights. I was the only one who still had a bank card and a driver's license in my name, so I got the room. The woman tells us she has a connect to some good, strong shit. I remember how heroin felt as a kid. It was the epitome of nothingness, just what I need right now. Since the universe refused me the last couple times, I tried with all my might to end my life. I shudder as those memories surface. I cannot face waking up, realizing once again I could not even kill myself right, being the never-ending fuck-up I am. I guess this is the next best thing. The two men put their hands up, quickly declining. One said, no thanks, I do not mess with that shit. The other nodded, the smart ones. Ignoring the slight fear inside, I ask how much it costs. I explain it's been a long time and we'll not need much. We work out a deal. I realize it has been so long since I've done heroin, I have to ask her for help to just do the shit. The woman reminds me again, it's super strong. I think she mentioned fentanyl, but I wasn't into this stuff at the time, so I was not well-versed in what was going around. I vaguely remember what I'd done in my teens, and tell her to drop it to one-sixteenth of that. Should be fine, I say. I was in my late thirties now, no spring chicken, so I wanted to keep it light. I could always do more. I had no intention of killing myself. When I tried, it bit me in the ass. I take in the drug, and stop as soon as I feel anything. Barely halfway through, the tiny amount I'd decided on. Whoa, I think. I tell her, damn, it's been a while. I think I need to sit, or maybe lie down. She calls the guys, and they half-carry me to the bed where I sit down, legs hanging over the end, swaying a little. I feel a little sick. I'd forgotten that part. But, definitely high. I say, wow, I am a fucking lightweight now. I feel a little silly, because I'd barely done anything. My new friends and I are all laughing as I say some goofy shit about what I'm experiencing. Then, they sort of slowly fade out, like you see in the movies, when the screen fades to darkness from the corners. In the last bit of light, I notice the dingy white wall in front of me. And finally, the popcorn ceiling, as I fall backwards. I never even feel my back and head hit the bed. I want to take a moment to explain a bit about why I'm sharing such a dark experience. I used to be ashamed. This was sadly not the last time I did heroin. But I have to remind myself, I survived. I went through this for a reason, and you're hearing a lot of that right now. I'm here to share the experience, because so many people do not understand what could drive a person to a life like this, to a moment like this. I used to be one of those people who judged the homeless. Disgusted when I'd hear about mothers who chose drugs over their kids. I used to take everything I had for granted, like a home and a beautiful child. A partner who was helping me raise him, even though we were not usually happy with each other. Or a bathroom where I could shower and take a shit every day in peace. A fridge that had food in it regularly. I easily found jobs, did well in them, advanced, and that regularly appreciated me. I had a family who loved me, even though I was the crazy black sheep who screwed up all the time. I have a skin color that gave me advantages it never should, and I was not even aware of it. I was born with an appearance I hated, because people thought my looks were the reason I got anywhere, when I used to be very smart. But people never commented on that, not to mention, I did not see what others saw in myself, which made it even more frustrating. Even with all these advantages, all these luxuries, my mind and heart were still not well. They were broken. I still saw the world through a lens that did not reflect true reality. I saw danger where there was none. I felt fear that was irrational and understood by no one. I thought constantly how I was alive simply to suffer. How disgusting and awful I must be to deserve such a life I could not escape from. And the worst part? I believed I was right, and the rest of the world was wrong. Mental illness and addiction are awful by themselves, but are very commonly mixed in my experience. Because the pain of seeing and feeling and thinking the things we do is debilitating. Having no one understand me, including myself, was awful. Demeaning. Eventually, it was too much to handle. I turned on myself. I was destructive without the ability to care, because caring hurt too much. Feeling hurt too much. I'd feel I had no choice but to find some sort of escape, and drugs made me feel normal. They calmed the thoughts. They put a tourniquet on my avalanche of overwhelming feelings. They numbed me enough to function. Without having to go through trying to trust some therapist or doctor who was not going to fix me anyhow. But there's a reason for all of it. God willing, this will be the final time I will be between life and death at my own hand until I am truly done here on Earth. My heart believes these dark seven year cycles are over now. The chains have been broken. The pain set free. I am honestly no longer suicidal, and I look forward to everything life has to offer me now. Most days, nearly all days actually, which is a far cry from where I have been. I'm sorry. This story, and all I gained from it, ended up being too long for a single episode. I'm going to end this part here. The continuation episode will be available when I release this one. I prefer to binge, and absolutely hate cliffhangers. So feel free to join me on part two of this new chapter in my life, and the new book I intend to write. Thank you for sharing this emotional time in my life. Thank you for understanding when I can't hold it together, and for being here with me as I face these things. Acknowledge and feel it all, and have finally found the purpose for all of it. You can too. Be patient with yourself and the world around you. Your time will come. Keep looking for it. I believe in both of us. I wish you a magical day, and that you experience blessings that you are not expecting. I appreciate everything you are. Take care, beautiful soul.
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