Recovery

 

 

Addict.
Even the word sounds gritty.
A dirty word reserved for meth heads, heroin junkies, people who are useless shells of human beings.

I am a recovering addict. Most don’t know this about me, nor is it something most would understand. I even debate on publishing this post. I’ve never touched a drug nor had more than two drinks in one sitting, nor will I. But for a long time I’ve known I was an addict. I have the tendencies, the insatiable draw and itch out of my skin for something I shouldn’t, and for a long time I had incredibly poor coping skills. Chased after this unobtainable thing I thought would fill a void; a hole inside my soul I was unwilling to admit to.This is why I’ve never touched a drug or drank excessively, I knew what would happen. As it is, I chose paths that were not right and surrounded myself with people who didn’t belong in my life. 

I’ve always known that everything will be ok. I think this comes from hitting rock bottom. And even worse, hitting it twice. “Achieving” this gives you the clearest view in a way that is practically indescribable. Because of it, you feel when you are sliding. You identify when you are vulnerable. You learn your triggers and if you’re lucky (and smart), you avoid them like the plague. You become incredibly self-aware. Or at least I have.

I’ve spent the last six months (and a little longer) dis-entangling myself from that life and building a new one for myself. And I will say that for the most part I consider it to have been an incredibly successful venture thus far. But the past couple of weeks have not been the greatest for me inside. Please know, this is not a pity statement. Wonderful things have happened, I’ve been blessed with many gifts and I am thankful for them all. That being said, somewhere underneath it all has been a rumbling of discomfort. I was sliding again . . . Sliding into old habits. Old coping strategies to get “a fix”. To feel something again. To feel different. To feel anything other than what I was feeling.

Do you ever find there are moments you have that are perfectly timed? Where the thing you see or the conversation you have with someone is so specific and poignant that it hits you like a bag of rocks? I had the most interesting conversation with someone about this very subject and I knew in my gut that it was for a reason. I fell a little, visiting who and how I used to be . . . thinking it would make me feel good. To be honest, I felt nothing but a kick in the gut. The thoughts raced through my head, “you know better”, “you are better than this”, “this isn’t for you anymore”. Every ounce says this isn’t right for you. This time I was crawling out of my skin for a different reason . . . screaming and clawing to escape back to a place of sanity.

It’s easy to be dead inside. To be numb. To float through life because it is comfortable. To seek out that which isn’t completely right for you just because it’s something and is there. It seems like effort to feel, to be something else, to change. And a mountain to climb to free yourself from the past and open again. I’m not perfect, I never will be. Happiness happens, it’s not something to be “earned”. We try too hard. I feel calm to be back in a better place and on the same path I’ve been working at the last couple of months. I suppose it is like they say, one day at a time . . .

 

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