A Quiet Plea

Dear Day 65,

The race of my mind does not notice the tides, not now.

What do you want from me? 

Is there some master plan? 

A day of asking myself if I'd be proud. The girl who left it all, hoping for brighter days. Is she proud of me? Does she mind that some days I don't feel very grateful? Would she have done all that she did if she knew? Was she thinking of me at all, or did she think she could hold on? 

I feel like a slave to time. It keeps passing, pulling me further away from the triumph of leaving, of putting down the bottle for the last time. Ripping me away from small comforts, the believability of my forged identity. The certainty of my ceiling. Somewhere along the line, I played a part so deeply, with such heart, that I forgot it wasn't real. I faked confidence so expertly that I forgot what it feels like to wonder if the whispers across the room are about you, to read into passing glances like they're fuelled by hatred, by superiority. I forgot what it's like to feel weak. Now, weakness permeates my being. It's the energy I arise with each morning and the way I crumple into my bed in the dark of night. Weakness.

Could I still do it all today? Could I live a severed life? The anger and rage that masked my authentic being - could I rebuild that wall? Would I cut it out there on the street, playing my way into another drink, another line, another mindless fight with a stranger? Do I still have the strength to trudge my way through the job I loved so much, or did the cracks in my mind that told me it was time to move on leave scars? Could I fake my way into another promotion, back into respect? 

I grieve. I grieve the fantasy, I grieve the way I felt weeks ago, full of hope and full of tenacity. I grieve my anger. Now it only lasts for so long before the dam breaks. It knows better than I that it's only a protective shield. There is nothing left to fight, no one left to yell at, nobody left to blame. It's a level playing field now, and a part of me hates it. Who do I turn to, Day 65, when you're putting me in harm's way? 

I have been ruminating lately. I have been telling myself stories that hurt. I let the beast run wild, missing the times I was most desperate for peace, and I missed power. God, I miss power. I miss playing God without a care in the world. I miss the times before the words "emotional sobriety" were anywhere near my vocabulary. I long for the simplicity I felt before, for the freedom to be a complete and total mess, and to feel justified in that. I wish I cared more about school. I wish I cared more about others. I wish I could stop this spiral in its tracks, but the only way out is through. I just wish I still had the shining hope that I will make it through. 

I will never admit this to the version of myself who went through it, but Day 65, you and I both know this is round two. I miss the first time, when everything was upside down. I miss believing even through the mood swings, headaches, dizziness, hopeless moments and abundance of tears that somewhere on the other side of the alcohol-fuelled rainbow, there was a place of utopia that I could reach if only I was able to stack up a few months of sobriety. Now there's all this other stuff? How do I protect my peace and fight for change if pieces of me still demand to be heard? If they choke under the weight of the superficial bandages I have been placing upon them? If I am to listen to them and allow them to be seen, finally, must I allow myself to go there? If I do go there, will I get stuck? 

This is a wood duck. I learned this from a sign at the park. At the very least, I learned something new today.

Do I believe in God? Do I try hard enough? Am I willing to try harder? 

My nervous system is running amok, and I can't see clearly enough through the clouds to lead it back to safety. The lighthouse of my optimism has dimmed, and I've washed up on shore, cold and afraid.  

Yet they still stand up at the podiums, they still fill up chairs, they organize meetings and tell us it works. They tell us they're living proof. "I wanted to die; now I want to live. It gets better, but you have to do the work." 

Sometimes I want to scream that I'm tired, sometimes I want to tell them I'm far too broken, that I'm too far gone. Good for you, I want to say, but not for me. Then what? Then I give up hope? I walk away. I move back and live my own Groundhog Day within the confines of an industry and a being that I feel trapped inside. 

The alternative is being chased by memories, brushing up against my legs and knocking me off my feet. At least it was today. What did this day want from me? What am I doing? Am I naive to have hope? 

I watched fireworks again tonight, and I couldn't help but notice the birds. One in particular whose wings flitted about as it flew frantically into a crowd of people, only to pivot in the air and fly in the opposite direction, back towards the explosions. I am like that bird. I am flying frantically. First, away from the chaos, then towards community, towards being "one of," and then fear pulls me back in. 

Will this ever end? Will I ever feel free? Do I want it to go back to the way it was, or am I just scared? Am I scared of humility? Starting fresh, starting new? 

People gather on land and water to see the fireworks show

Day 65, you were confusing. Beautiful moments were soured by my own emotional state. The trees swayed with the breeze on my nature walk, and the fireworks were stunning. I get it, I do. I know I must go through it. I understand that this, too, shall pass. However, it's been a few really rough weeks, and I'm not sure how much more I can take. 

Please let up. Please let it ease up. I will let go, I will surrender, but I want to trust again. I want to feel passion again. I want to believe in recovery again. I will start counting my days like they matter if you'll bring back meaning. I promise. I promise. 

I want to learn to skateboard. I want to take a comedy class just because it scares me. I want my days to be filled by love. I want to feel that I've truly made a family. I want to learn to play guitar again. I want to write music again. I want to read like I used to.

All of these things can only come if I feel free. How do I feel free again? How do I become excited again? If you can put in a good word with Day 66... I promise I'll do my part.

Humbly, 

Charlotte