Reflections in Recovery


Life seems bruised and painful and unnecessary at times. Labored breath among self indulging inner turmoil must qualify me a writer or undertaker. I may have only undertaken the undertaker’s demeanor and placid gaze. My hope is dwindling, my depression cautions and cages me tighter than a rusted closed clasp. My thoughts whirlwind the entirety of existence into a meaningless feat, unworthy of future failed attempts and unprecedented abandonment.

Instead of endless possibilities that tempt my mind and admiration of brilliance in music, art and words; I am swiftly replaced by a sullen drone being herded to the next depot for human crossing and no extraneous or infectious interactions to endure. The colors are lifeless and expected, the grey and darkness of winter lingers into my moods and casts down my brow that can only arch up two wrinkles. Two shy of my usual wholehearted four wrinkle effort.

See I get lost with the “this can’t be it” argument swimming sharked circles and funneling to the depths of the final drain. The drain that catches all inadequacies, irrelevant differences, internalized notions of injustice, imaginations and memories. It is why we have the word catch-all in the first place, this drain. It is in the center of my chest, buried beneath and under my lungs.

At times this drain has centripetal force unbeknownst to my shadow self. It strikes as if to attack my immunity to the outside world and its snide sneaky hibernation that loiters just long enough to thieve your soul. Not yours, his or hers, but ours.

At other times I am lucky to have reached the handle and even conscious and level headed enough to lean down and close the drain. “Temporary reassignment”, I say to myself as I squeeze the octagon bumpy metal against my hand with just the right amount of pressure to cause the knob to turn closed. A watchful eye remains on the handle, knowing at any moment that damn thing could crumble between my fingers, disappear or instantaneously freeze into its own stubborn position.

I can freelance in the moments I have access and control the drain. I am available to dance within life’s mysteries because my spectrum is in full swing and my antagonist mind is at bay. I can delight in nature and salute scenery inch by inch. I can become an inviting joyous soul, whom comes close to demanding your happiness as well when you are in circumference of my very being.

I can not give you some profound reason to choose life amongst it’s promised heartaches and disappointments or after the death of the dreams we were sold for look-a-like happily ever after. I am searching for my own reasons and reminders, insights and meanings or challenges to master. I can share with you a small something that I have discovered amongst this paragraph, one of my why’s is to learn your why’s, your insight, your passion and sanctified unique beauty. Each of us as individuals, such as our finger print, have a key to unlock and unfold our perception and perspective magnificence, our gifts, talents, thoughts and natural essence. Our beauty to share and enlighten, awaken each other with. Sing into another’s soul, search their wildest imaginings and indulge in all their glorious individual glamour. An enigma, our enigmas, collectively.

I have to begin restating my closing. I have been given another 24 hours. I am not taking it, I am enduring it, enjoying it and expressing within it, alongside all else and all others. 44 days clean and sober. These are just Reflections from a grateful recovering addict. They don’t all have to make sense!

J.💜💜💜💜💜💜

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