The Meme That Nailed It
“Has somebody ever fucked up your head so bad that you can’t even be happy anymore?”
Because all you can think is: what the fuck did I do to deserve this?
“I’m a good person.”
Holy hell—the memes are uncomfortably accurate. If you want to understand what life looks like inside my recovery—substance use, domestic violence, multiple strokes, PTSD, and grief—there’s a meme that nails it better than any clinical definition ever could.
The Nuclear Option
My biggest regret isn’t that these things happened. It’s how long I waited to do anything about them.
By the time I actually confronted the substance use, the abuse, the trauma, and the medical fallout, everything had already spiraled into something that required the nuclear option. Instead of boundaries, sobriety, or asking for help, I chose avoidance and unhealthy coping mechanisms. That made recovery harder—because now everything has to be done in epic proportions just to make progress.
Freeze, Then Flee Sideways
A lot of this sits squarely at the intersection of PTSD and neurodivergence. In fight-or-flight scenarios, my default response isn’t either—it’s freeze.
Once the situation resolves, my brain kicks into distraction mode. With grief, that meant psychotic levels of cleaning and constant travel. Neither were inherently unhealthy, but both delayed actually processing what I was avoiding.
This Blog Isn’t About Volume
This blog has always been inconsistent—long gaps followed by bursts of posts. That’s intentional. This space isn’t about output; it’s about usefulness.
What I try to offer here is lived experience mixed with medical commentary, woven through grief. Sometimes writing is venting. Sometimes it’s documentation. Sometimes it’s survival.
The Weight of Holidays
Even though I spent years working or deployed during the holidays, they still carry weight. As a kid, holidays were good. My parents made an effort, and after the divorce it remained one of my mom’s favorite times of year.
As an adult—single, in the Army, then in healthcare—holidays became just another shift. I worked them because I could. Sometimes because I had nothing else going on. Sometimes so someone else could be home.
Alone, But Not New to It
The last two years have meant spending holidays mostly alone. One consistent friend still stops by on his way to family celebrations, and that matters more than he probably knows.
Substance use damaged relationships. Add strokes and surgeries, and even leaving the house can feel like an expedition. Declining invitations isn’t rejection—it’s survival.
Grief Complicates Everything
My grief doesn’t look like what people expect. There aren’t many fond memories to cling to because of everything that surrounded his death.
Despite reassurances, there’s a lingering fear that I’m quietly blamed. Facts don’t always protect you from grief-driven guilt.
The Takeaway
The holidays don’t bring a new wave of grief. They bring reflection.
No one should feel guilt—real or implied—for being alone during the holidays. Some people choose it. Some people don’t have a choice. Both are valid.
This year, I gave the dogs a good holiday. I remembered my mom. And I stayed intact. Sometimes, that’s enough.