Flashback to 2008 when Sabina and I were sent to detox at The Farm at San Benito and my Alice Dellal partial-shave was now partially bald due to a drunken confidence which convinced me I could trim my own hair. Raw vegan meals were sent to our garden villa, but we skipped them, snorting blue and smoking green instead, hiding out in lucky banyos scattered across the compound as if middle schoolers experimenting with B&H Special Filters. There were swans and peacocks, secret libraries tucked amidst dense jungle, missed yoga classes which turned into two-person interpretive dance, and mini waterfalls like hidden treasures asking us to find them at three in the morning, high as fuck.
Edie, Kate, and collarbones were unhealthy obsessions. We were always innately hippie, but nowadays more healthily so. Back then, instead of vegetables, our floral prints and tiedye headbands were paired with Valium. Diazepam fast became a fucking nightmare. Five years of my life were spent heavily dependent on it, self-prescribed to remedy my crippling social anxiety, and other addictions snowballed along the way. It got to the point where my tolerance was up to 300mg a day, no biggie, except the fact that I didn't even recognize myself anymore. Like some universal alarm, a voice inside told me something was very wrong; I had lost myself damn near completely. One night I found myself ambitiously downing wine and pills, tumbling downwards with such momentum I broke the fuck down and miraculously arrived at some sort of breakthrough. I was faced with the most challenging opportunity of my life: to let go of all my destructive attachments and find my SELF again.
It's been a motherfucker of a ride, but look at me now. Not in infinity years did I think I ever could or would be this happy, I always thought depression was just stuck in my genetic make up like brown eyes or black hair and I could do nothing about it but accept it and continue suffering. Evidently untrue. I, very slowly but eventually, learned to let go of destructive vices and seek out more constructive habits and hobbies like, ironically, coming full circle into the world of raw veganism and yoga. I learned to always speak about my feelings because no matter how shitty and alone I felt, I was never actually alone. I never ever thought I could or would be sober, healthy, and still manage to be somewhat interesting. Literally the two greatest fears I'd always express in rehab were 1. I will become sober, fat, and boring. 2. I will lose all of my friends and my "party girl" persona. Oh man.. bless my superficial ex-soul. Of course, in the end, all those people I thought were friends cut ties with me almost immediately once my sobriety news hit the grapevine, which was both a bitch slap from reality and a most helpful occurrence. A handful of true ride-or-die kindred souls from my high days still stand by me till today, in all my sober awkwardness, and I cherish them more than they will ever know.
Edie, Kate, and collarbones were unhealthy obsessions. We were always innately hippie, but nowadays more healthily so. Back then, instead of vegetables, our floral prints and tiedye headbands were paired with Valium. Diazepam fast became a fucking nightmare. Five years of my life were spent heavily dependent on it, self-prescribed to remedy my crippling social anxiety, and other addictions snowballed along the way. It got to the point where my tolerance was up to 300mg a day, no biggie, except the fact that I didn't even recognize myself anymore. Like some universal alarm, a voice inside told me something was very wrong; I had lost myself damn near completely. One night I found myself ambitiously downing wine and pills, tumbling downwards with such momentum I broke the fuck down and miraculously arrived at some sort of breakthrough. I was faced with the most challenging opportunity of my life: to let go of all my destructive attachments and find my SELF again.
It's been a motherfucker of a ride, but look at me now. Not in infinity years did I think I ever could or would be this happy, I always thought depression was just stuck in my genetic make up like brown eyes or black hair and I could do nothing about it but accept it and continue suffering. Evidently untrue. I, very slowly but eventually, learned to let go of destructive vices and seek out more constructive habits and hobbies like, ironically, coming full circle into the world of raw veganism and yoga. I learned to always speak about my feelings because no matter how shitty and alone I felt, I was never actually alone. I never ever thought I could or would be sober, healthy, and still manage to be somewhat interesting. Literally the two greatest fears I'd always express in rehab were 1. I will become sober, fat, and boring. 2. I will lose all of my friends and my "party girl" persona. Oh man.. bless my superficial ex-soul. Of course, in the end, all those people I thought were friends cut ties with me almost immediately once my sobriety news hit the grapevine, which was both a bitch slap from reality and a most helpful occurrence. A handful of true ride-or-die kindred souls from my high days still stand by me till today, in all my sober awkwardness, and I cherish them more than they will ever know.
I am thankful for the clarity I found and am constantly finding, and for the realization of just how imperative it is to confront and accept rather than escape. I am learning to delve past the surface a bit more and reconnect with the beautiful spirit we've all had within us since before birth. I'm learning more and more about the divine balance of the universe -- how the deepest shadows bring the brightest rays. I'm learning to read my body more consciously, listen to my intuition more closely and, most importantly, to flow rather than fight.
LOVE . BE LOVE . BE LOVED
PEACE PEACE PEACE PEACE
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