Yesterday someone posted on this or the other sub about glamorizing a self-destructive character of a series. I thought all day about how sometimes I glamorize my own disorder when remembering the past.

I sometimes think about how when I was untreated I used to feel free, at the top of the world, accomplished, having fun, in constant euphoria, feeling seen and needed, being admired. For some reason, that's what my brain remembers first.

It takes me a while of mindfulness to connect with the other side of the memories: being worried about my liver every day because I was abusing alcohol, being scared of ruining every single good thing I had in my life, embarrassing myself constantly, trying to solve a puzzle of fragmented memories, wondering if I'd end up homeless, getting in physical fights with my father, worrying my mother, being authentically alone. Most of all — I remember the guilt of choosing very bad partners and hating them and connecting emotionally with other people and keeping those connections as secrets.

But the highs were really high and that contrast between the best and the worst was what made me feel excited, in a weird way. I was constantly wondering what would happen next. As if my life was a mere source of entertainment for myself.

Nowadays, I'm stable. Completely, absolutely stable. To be honest, sometimes it's boring and I don't feel like myself. I know I'm doing better and that it's good for me, but now my life is so predictable and grey and I'm more like water and less like fire. Now I'm someone people depend on. I didn't want any commitments, ever. And now I have many. And although I'm glad and I'm never anxious about anything anymore, it feels so foreign.

I feel like I'm fading away. I'm not fire anymore. I'm just the smoke.

But last night, after a day of these thoughts, I had a restless night —

I dreamt that I was thinking about my partner, the one I made a home with. I remember feeling so happy that, for once in my life, I had not been a bad partner. But then the dream turned into a nightmare where I remembered that I had physically cheated on him and hid it from him forever. And everything was a lie again and I was a piece of shit again and I destroyed the only good thing in my life again. I had never recovered after all.

I woke up so anguished and relieved that none of it is true. I have actually not been a bad partner to him. I woke up so glad to find myself with a clean conscience. I am stable. I am a safe partner. I am trustworthy.

Somehow, it was definitely the worst nightmare I've ever had.