January 24th, 2022
Have you ever started a day by telling yourself that this is the day you’ll get better, and at the end of it you’re not?
If so, then this one’s for you.
When I was a mess, I would often have conversations with future me.
I would say, “Hey. It’s me. I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this again. If you can just get us through the rest of today, I promise you that tomorrow will be different.”
I’d go on.
“I promise that I’ll take it easy on you. I won’t drink, the whole day. I’ll let you detox and rebalance. I’ll apologize to whoever is mad at us for whatever it is I’m doing right now. I’ll be nice to people. I’ll be kind to you.”
And future me would get present me through that day.
Then the morning would come.
And I would tell myself that this is the day that I will get better.
Sometimes I would dash that hope within moments of waking up. Sometimes it would take a few hours, but I would find a reason to resort to who I assumed I was at my core.
It was often as simple as realizing I had scraped by another day without losing anything significant, so I could scrape once more. By the end of the day, most likely, I had deflected and projected and irrationally rationalized myself to the place and person I had been the day before.
It was demoralizing. I often woke up already defeated. But — and this is the point of me writing this down — I never stopped telling future me that tomorrow was the day I was going to get better.
And one day I did.
And it was awful and led to one of the worst weeks of my life.
And that week led to me finally keeping a promise to myself that I never thought I could deliver.
Day after day after day.
Hope isn’t something you have to go out and find.
Hope can be something as easy as saying the most delusional thing to yourself, over and over and over again.
And then, you know — doing it.