You can accept or reject the way you are treated by other people, but until you heal the wounds of your past, you will continue to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex, but eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hands inside, pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories, and make peace with them.” —Iyanla Vanzant
Mental illness is hard enough to navigate without tacking on the godawful stigma associated with being “mentally ill.” The brain, like any organ, gets sick at times, yet those of us who are unlucky enough to be plagued with such troubles are forced into deeper, darker recesses of shame and humiliation should we be brave enough to reach out and say that we need help. I still find it baffling that I’ve not received a single “Get Well Soon!” card/balloon/bouquet/whatever despite multiple hospitalizations and disability leave. Never have I felt so guilty, mortified, and alone simply because I’m sick.
In response to a comment on my earlier blog when I quit smoking cigarettes, and, just as a general update and fucking kudos to myself… Yes, Lauren is still a non-smoker. Fuck yeah, that’s right!
To top that off, I’m back to working out regularly. I finally cancelled my old gym membership in Alpharetta, and I joined a new, kick ass gym in Atlanta called Fitness Factory. It’s only been two weeks since I joined, but I’m back in the groove already.
Can I get a Hell Yeah?
Damn right I can.
So, I quit smoking cigarettes… 3 whole days and counting without one slip.
Considering that (1) those were weekend days, and (2) I did consume alcohol on more than one occasion over those days, and (3) I was around cigarette smoke and smokers throughout the time period… I’m pretty fuckin’ stoked.